


Ears

by leogrl19



Series: Seduction in Skyhold [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ba-ba-ba-BONDAGE, Dom Josie is DOM, F/F, Laviyet?, Montillan?, Payback's a B, Teasing, We'll keep striving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leogrl19/pseuds/leogrl19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2, JOSEPHINE WINS. (OR: 'All tied up, and nowhere to go')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ears

* * *

 

_“Your chambers.”_

And that was all. The ambassador had passed her in a corridor—the very picture of business-minded preoccupation — except for the faint graze of their arms—

The undeniable glint in smoky eyes….

So: she rested against the chilled railing of a balcony, cradled by the elements—it, the only way she could **_bear_** the room she’d been given, for any appreciable length of time—contemplating whether she should wait a _second_ _longer_ — because their little tryst had been at midday(and, the sun had long set) — or just go to _her_ —because that was, certainly, better than ‘ _nothing_ ’.

And, she would have already _been_ at the ambassador’s door, forcing the human against the first viable surface …except, for that _look_.

That ‘worth it, if you _wait_ ’, look.

But, _waiting_ is exactly what she _doesn’t_ do.

Brin pushed out a sharp stream of air, hands flexing against hard stone as she leaned back even further, the upper half of her body meeting a weightless breeze…

A measured knock.

The elf snorted; yanked herself up to shove away from the railing, as she made her way to the room’s entrance.

Her fingers caught on a metal latch; the ambassador lowered her tablet, offering a smile in cordial reception.

Brin rested an arm against the door’s edge. “Did you get lost?”

There was a twitch in the human’s brow, gone before she could _really_ enjoy it, the woman dipping her head in a bow. “Your Worship.” Those grey orbs flicked upward. “I believe I made a mistake recording your official statement to the Chantry.”

A raised brow. “You’ve never made a mistake before.”

The woman seemed pleased by the assessment, if only by measures, her brows falling just so, as if it were an urgent matter. “Well. I would prefer to be sure.”

A calculated pause — the subtlest glance to the room’s interior.

Brin smirked, lowering her arm; backing away. “You can drop the act.” A gesture to the stairs behind her. “For as long a climb it is to this place, I’d say you earned yourself a reward.”

Josephine smiled again, stepping into the space she had provided; shutting the door, behind her. “I choose to be careful, my lady;” there was an added turn to her lips, as she set tablet and quill on a nearby end table, before making her way to the latticed doors of the balcony, “a thing, you, hardly view as a priority.”

The human wore another of her fussy dresses, mossy green draping everything below her waist; intricate, black fabric covering everything above—it interrupted by a high, golden collar, that flared to the top of her chest. 

Her eyes lingered on the heavy drape of her skirt, the way the material shimmered in the strange light of the moon. “I push for what I want.” She met the ambassador’s eyes. “But, I don’t take what isn’t given.” Another dip in those slender brows — and she was _pleased_ …Brin followed her path to the balcony doors, slipped behind her. “It’s been awhile…” she tasked a finger to map the length of her jaw, “Thought you’d forgotten our little arrangement…”

A shiver in response. “I believed it, wise, to maintain a certain…discretion, after our last encounter.” 

“You mean, when I took you against your desk?” The human’s shoulders stiffened — but there was a telling pause; a coarser breath. _Smirk_. “Mm…” she tugged at the strip of fabric knotted behind her waist, “I bet you can’t sit there, without touching yourself…”

Josephine turned, catching her hand—catching her _lips_ —and she grinned, because she _liked_ that indignant tongue; the nervy fingers tangled in her hair.

The _challenge_ ….

She scratched— _dug_ —into fabric and bone, and there was the tiniest _whimper_ , _nails_ _against her_ _scalp_ , when she claimed her hips—forced their bodies closer.

Her hand was released, abandoned for the lapel of her jacket, the human drawing her backward, back into the room—trading their positions—pushing her to the bed.

The elf scoffed, looking to the thing she never used; back to her—dark eyes and a chest heaving with passion. “Vanilla?”

“Perhaps not…” the woman removed a pair of silken scarves from a hidden slit in her skirt.

Brin beamed—because, just when she figured she had the human pegged, here was another one of her _surprises_. “Out to even the score?”

Josephine smoothed the silk in her hands. “You were entirely rebellious, last we did this—and, I have learned, it, rare, for words to control you. You do not listen.” The fabric was made taut. “I have fashioned an alternative. One you might respect…” steely composure—and it was that _tone_ the ambassador always used, when pressing a point; underscored by patent lust. “Undress.”

The way she **_said_** it. Like it was an _affront_ she’d been clothed even _this_ _long_ ….

Brin shrugged off her jacket; rolled a dark tunic over her head, before moving to shove down the pants she wore, dragging the band of her smalls, with them, only to toss both aside.

A _hitch_ in the other’s breathing; a _break_ in that perfect control…The elf shifted up immaculate sheets—spread her legs: 

**_Dared_** her— 

To _touch_ …

And from the way the human _swallowed_ , **_hungry_** and **_wanting_** , eyes documenting every inch of her—she was sure, just in this moment, she could gain the upper hand:

Win it _all_ …

_But_ —

Creators. She wanted to see how _far_ this could _go_.

The human’s newfound **_assertiveness_** playing _deliciously_ on the line of her _curiosity_ and her **control**.

Brin smirked. “I think there’s a bit of drool, there…”

And, the spell was broken. _Exasperation_ spilling forth (after a cursory check to verify there _wasn’t_ drool) as the ambassador narrowed her eyes—before, they flicked away…came back with dark **_intent_**.

Josephine withdrew, completely, abandoning the bed, and Brin propped herself on her elbows, to watch her departure, the purposeful stride to a nearby chair. 

The human trailed a curved arm, scaled a sculpted side, before meeting her eyes. 

A gesture to the chair’s seat.

The elf raised a brow, bit her lip to suppress an impressed chuckle—because, already, she felt she made the right _choice_.

Brin met her where she stood — and there was something about the approach, the way their eyes never _left_ — that made her shiver in anticipation…before she acquiesced to the silent command.

Fingers followed the slope of her wrist. “There is something I can teach you.” And, it was that wonderful _tone_ , again, the human replacing her touch with silk, wrapping the scarf around, both, her arm and the chair's. “The art of patience…”

A snort. “Overrated.”

“Oh?” Lips grazed the lobe of her ear; a _tongue_ —her abs _clenched_. “…I think not.” Satisfaction deepened her accent; she tied a careful knot. “Ramming and bludgeoning, as you do…” a tsk of disapproval. “There are, more, opportune ways to get what you want.” Nails teased the wrist of her Anchor hand. “Submit. Agree. Adapt…” _tightened_ fabric, “Or, appear to do so.”

The ambassador stepped away—as if _knowing_ she would test the restraints–

Fail to undo them.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Will I be here long?”

Josephine smiled, and it was _better_ in her eyes: a mixture of innocence and guile that made _her blood_ ** _boil_**. "Until the lesson is learned…" the human took her in again—admired her handiwork—took her _time_ , and she was just about to _grit her teeth_ , when the woman finally stepped forward; pressed a hand up the expanse of her shoulder.

“Do you know the best way to change a person’s mind?” Dark grey orbs never left her skin. “Most, believe, it is by presenting irrefutable evidence, that contradicts, their opponent's claims. But, they are mistaken.” The slow sweep of hair across her neck. “The best way to change a person’s mind, is to agree with them. Make them believe what you desire, was their thought, all along…” a breath at the start of her spine; “People cling to their convictions for a very small number of reasons—pride, integrity; fear…” fingertips at the base of her neck, “You must offer them a dignified way out…”

“ _Creators_ —” her nails dug irritably into wood, “are all shemlen so _chatty_?”

_But_. Instead of words, there were _fingers_ , canvassing her skin, devouring every mark, scratch, and blemish…Until they became purposeful— _focused_ —tracing the vallaslin that designated her as a hunter—

A _heady_ murmur, **_dipped_** in arousal.

And, she **_felt_** those fingers, as vividly as the needle that had been _hammered_ into her _skin_.

The human set a nail against one of the symbols, traced the shape until she saw the leaf-like mark in her own mind — followed the spiraling bands of flecks that wound her back and shoulders — pausing, without warning, at another mark; lavishing the same _maddening_ attention…Before, her hand finally fell, following the winding pattern down her upper arm, to its end at her elbow.

The ambassador loosed a shuddering sigh; her hands tightened against the arms of the chair.

“The detail, alone…” there was a hitch — a flagrant _awe_ … “These markings,” a sound of _inadequacy_ , “you…should be given proper tribute…” deft touches along the curves of her muscles, before she slipped in front of her; rested soft hands on both of her own. “And how can you resist?” The woman leaned in, their lips nearly grazing, “Restrained, as you are…”

And there was a _smirk_ —

Brin lurched forward, the human backing away, just _enough_ , as her chair jerked back to the ground.

“Tip the chair and you get nothing.”

She snarled; exhaled through her nose…leaned back.

Josephine smiled down at her; stilled a jostling knee. “Defiant,” her touch crept higher, “ill-tempered,” higher still, “stubborn…” another _inch_ , “Is it so hard for you to use your words?” She stroked her inner thigh. “Why are you so impatient?”

“Because I can do it _better_ …”

The ambassador stared, those pale orbs **_darkening_** —and, the woman wanted it _just as much_ … That hand left her thigh, propped her chin — as she dipped forward to _kiss_ her. 

Brin grunted against those lips—pushed for _more_ —the human slowing her down; curbing her tongue—

Catching her lip, 

_Holding_ it….

She _strained_ against her restraints.

Another retreat, the human sighing against her lips. “I have heard, the loveliest rumors…of Elven,” a beat, “sensitivity…”

“Am I your first?” An incredulous look, “ _Elf_.” Brin smirked. “Was there some servant you pined for, but could never go all the way with?” She cocked her head. “Do I _look_ like her?” Narrowed grey eyes. “Even if I did…” she canted forward, “I’m no _flat ear_."

The woman regarded her. “On the subject of ears…Is it true—” a sudden _thought_ — **dark** and _eager_ ; Josephine pressed away. “No.” A smile she did not _trust_. “I think I will find out…”

The human slipped behind the chair—

Scaled fingers up her _neck_ …

Brin exhaled sharply. _Jolted_ in her seat.

Because—

All at _once_ :

_Lips_ and _careful touches_ ….

**_Elgar’nan_** …

Soft chuckles at her ear; a _purr_ of delight. “They are wonderful…”

“You’re,” a groan caught in her throat, “in the minority.”

“Perhaps, openly…” a gentle tug on its lobe, “The way you tremble, when I tease them…Certainly, I cannot be the only one…”

Kiss.

_Lick_ …

Brin shuddered, eyes fluttering shut. “Antivans…”

“ _Mm_ ,” and it traveled straight to her _core_ … “I find, myself, curious…” a tongue trailed the length of her ear, flicked at its sharpened tip, “Given your reaction.” _breathed_ ; her jaw tensed. “How will it be, if I continue to do this,” _teeth_ caught her earlobe, “while touching you elsewhere?”

A harsh breath—and, she felt a smirk creep onto her lips. “ _Find out_ …”

She felt the human smile against her — sneak a hand through one of the gaps adjacent to the chair’s arms — those _teeth_ nibbling their way up the slope of her ear, as _nails_ danced along the curve of her ribs.

Her body convulsed, again, abs twitching when those fingers dipped even _further_ , grazing slick folds.

_Teasing_ …

And, that—

Shouldn’t have _felt_ as **_good_** as it _did_ ,

But, she’s so _tense_ … The sheer amount of _stimulus_ the woman put her through — when she couldn’t even _touch herself_ — leaving _every_ , _one_ of her nerves on a razor’s edge.

An **_active_** _tongue_ :

She licked her lips,

And, it’s…

_surprising_

How _quick_ —

The hand was retracted.

“ _Fenedhis_ …” her body fell against the stiff back of the chair.

“I see.” A clinical tone, behind her — as if the shemlen had filed the utter _denial_ _of her release_ , away, to be taken advantage of later.

Brin tipped her head back; pushed out a slow, stream of air. Opened her eyes. “That all your curiosity gets me?”

“For now…” there was another smile as the woman shifted back around the chair; Josephine gathered the fabric of her skirt, straddled her lap — and there’s silk _pressed_ against her thighs — those lips _taking_ _hers_ , yet again. “Have you forgotten the lesson?”

“I’m sure I have…” and, there was _more_ irreverent sassing — before, she was, suddenly, taken by the tilt of the woman’s chin, how her eyes caught in the firelight…and, even now, thoughtful fingers massaged her wrists…Brin bucked against her—relished the _gasp_ ; the _narrowed_ eyes—tossing an insolent stare. “Get on with it, then.”

A hand was set between them, leaving heated trails down her chest—ardent scratches down her abdomen, as the ambassador kissed along her jaw— _nipped_ at her neck…There a series of contented sighs, murmured against her skin, as her other hand _stroked_ and _explored_ each muscle it encountered.

She grunted, feeling the tight, liquid tension _boil_ all over again. “What are you _doing_?” 

“Paying tribute…” lips latched against her throat—her entire _body_ _constricted_ , “the arc of your neck,” a thumb brushed her nipple, “the swell of your breast,” the other; teased between two fingers, “the expanse of your stomach;” the back of her knuckles dragged down taut, quivering skin, “the way your hips round into your thigh…”

Nails _pressed_ into the juncture.

And, that was _all she could take_ —

“Use your words…” _admonishing_ ; Josephine rocked her hips.

Her fingers _flexed_ against the arms of her chair: she’s never _seen_ this side of the woman, before; meticulous and daring—had no _defense_ for it…

So, if she was going to _lose_ , she would lose _well_. 

Like, this was 'her idea'. And maybe it _is_. 

“ _Please_ ,” hissed through her teeth.

“‘Please’?”

Brin leaned back in the chair; looked her straight in the eye. “Make me come…”

The **_response_** — the **_intensity_** , of those grey orbs, _after_ —

Hands snaked behind her head, wrapped in her hair—brought her _forward_ , to meet _lips_ , _tongue_ , and _teeth_ …Until those lips were trailing her stomach, the woman lowering to her knees.

Urging her thighs _wider_ …

A heavy breath…

A probing _lick_ —

Brin tossed back her head. _Cursed_ …as she _felt_ a low, hum of approval, 

_Everywhere_.

That tongue— _Creators, above_ — _that_ **_tongue_** ….

_Circling_ ; _flickering_ ; _flattening_ —

And, there was a hazy, valiant thought, about that **_tongue_** being good for more than just lecturing — before white hot pleasure knifed through her consciousness, yet again.

She wasn’t _ashamed_ of it. 

“ _Mm_ …” hips, _pushed_ , _up_ , as far as they could go; helpless, frantic thrusts, “ _Hah_ …” she bit her lip; smirked—bucked _harder_ …Closed her eyes; nodded her head. “ _Close_ …”

Brin wrapped her legs around her—brought the woman closer—heels digging into the blades of her back.

Smoky eyes peered up at her.

That undeniable _glint_ —

And she’s **_there_**

Her body convulsed; her spine curved — it felt like _drowning_ — so _deep_ within **_pleasure_** … she could hardly _breathe_ …. Before, that clever, nimble tongue carried her back up. Set her up for her next, great _fall_ ….

…Until: a steady glow. An easy grin spilling across her face.

“You _can_ be exuberant…”

A _pleased_ gleam, accompanied by the faintest _flush_ — as the woman cleaned herself with a handkerchief—

Her brows dipped.

_She_ wanted to _clean_ her….

Fabric strained against her wrists. 

An irritable growl.

“ _Take these_ _off_.”

Josephine sighed, rising to undo the careful knots — and the _moment she had control over her arms_ — she was crashing her lips against the human’s—tasting herself, as she forced her against a wall….

“You don’t know, how much I want to _take_ you, right now…” the ambassador shivered; she placed a hand against the hard surface. “I want your _scream_ …”

“…Another time, perhaps,” and it was that damn hand against her chest, holding her back; restricting her from _more_. “It is already late. I should leave before anyone takes notice.”

“Then, I’ll come to you…”

Another sigh—there the slightest curve to her lips. “You have obviously learned nothing from your lesson, my lady.” 

A smirk. “Teach it _again_.”

“Another time.” Repeated. Josephine unraveled the remaining scarf from her wrist — the mask of calm civility, easing neatly back into place, as she slipped the strip of fabric into her pocket. “Might you accompany me to the door?”

“Appearances?”

A smile.

The elf retracted her arm, already missing the bold initiator that bound her to a chair…but knowing that that side existed at _all_ — that she knew a face no one else _could_ — made her **_tingle_** ….

The ambassador reclaimed her tablet and quill, before meeting her at the opened door.

“I thank you, for your patience.” Brin snorted; that clever, clever tongue. “A good evening, Your Worship.”

She smirked, crossing her arms, as she watched the ambassador descend the stairs. 

A good evening, _indeed_.

 


End file.
